


Piece By Piece

by menel



Category: Strike Back
Genre: Developing Relationship, Fatherhood, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Homecoming, Infidelity, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Prequel, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-24 04:43:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7494234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/menel/pseuds/menel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without realizing it, Michael Stonebridge puts John Porter back together one piece at a time. The night before Porter undertakes a deep cover mission to locate Latif in Pakistan, Stonebridge pays him a visit. Both men have run out of time, but neither of them knows it and some things are yet to be said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> This fic bridges _Chris Ryan's Strike Back_ (or _Strike Back: Origins_ ) and _Strike Back: Project Dawn_. Some knowledge about _Origins_ would be useful but not essential to understanding the story. Background information has been provided so that Porter's situation should make sense.

John’s room was just that – a single room, furnished with a bed, a wardrobe, a table, a few chairs, a small kitchenette and an en suite bathroom. When he’d been reactivated, he’d considered returning to military housing but found that he’d grown attached to this room, which had seen him at the lowest point in his life when his self-loathing and self-destructive tendencies had been at their highest. What had the military psychologist diagnosed him as when he’d first turned up at Section 20 chasing a lead on Asad a.k.a. Scarface, after seven years? Borderline PTSD with low self-esteem. John had thought that to be a generous assessment.

That had been two years ago and now John’s life was markedly different. He was back to being a soldier, the only thing in life he knew and in which he truly excelled. Collinson’s death in Afghanistan had brought John peace in more ways than one. For seven years, he had been consumed by thoughts of vengeance and retribution, of somehow making things right even though that was completely impossible. The news of his best mate’s death after seven years in a coma while he’d been on assignment in Afghanistan had nearly broken him; trapped in that minefield with fucking Gerald Baxter, who was even more messed up than he was and on the verge of his own nervous breakdown. What a pair they had made. They had made it out of the minefield alive and John had finally told Baxter his real name when Baxter had been shot in between the eyes: Afghan sniper care of the U.S. military and Collinson’s betrayal. 

John had had no choice but to go on the run, hunted by the U.S. military and disavowed by his own government. He never stayed in one place for long, traveling through the Asian subcontinent first – Pakistan and India – before moving to South East Asia – the island nations of Thailand, Vietnam and Laos. He had been in the Philippines when they finally caught up to him. ‘They’ came in the form of a single man who had been waiting for him on the front porch of his small bungalow in Batangas, a seaside resort town in the southwestern tip of Luzon Island. It was easy to blend in in Batangas, where the tourists were numerous and where retired expatriates often came to settle. Still, John had chosen one of the more remote beaches and rented a bungalow – a shack, really, compared to the other buildings – quite isolated from the rest. He didn’t recognize the man waiting for him as the postcard perfect sun began to set, casting its burnished violet, gold and orange glow over the landscape, but he knew the type. Fit. Strong. Watchful. Carried himself like a predator ready to strike. All that was through John’s military trained eyes. An ordinary tourist would’ve seen a good-looking man, casually dressed in linen trousers and a light blue cotton shirt drinking a can of beer while perhaps waiting for a friend. 

“IT?” John said to the stranger in a questioning tone. 

The man turned to face him, even though he must’ve known the moment John had arrived. “Accounting,” he replied in an unmistakable British accent.

John internally breathed a sigh of relief. Not American. Which meant less likely to kill him. Might even have a civil conversation. 

“You wear it like a fucking badge,” John told him and the stranger’s face broke into a warm smile. God, he was _really_ good-looking.

“So do you,” the stranger said, tacitly acknowledging that they were on the same team. “Beer?” he offered, holding out another can of Cerveza Negra. Condensation had formed on the can and it was still cool when John accepted it. The man had not been waiting long. 

“Should we go inside?” the stranger asked politely (he was so British, John found it refreshing). “Or would you prefer to do this out here?” 

“It’s cooler out here,” John informed him, motioning to one of the bamboo lounge chairs. “No air-conditioning inside. Not like some of those other bungalows.” 

“Didn’t expect there to be,” the stranger replied, taking the seat opposite John and putting his beer on the table between them. 

“S.A.S.?” John asked, as he sat down. 

“Navy,” the man confirmed. “Now with Section 20.” 

John stiffened for a fraction of a second. “When did they bring you aboard?” he asked. 

“Six months ago.” 

John inwardly smiled. He’d fallen off the grid six months ago. “My replacement?” he couldn’t help but say. 

“Your _colleague_ ,” the man corrected. “It’s time to come home, Porter. I was tasked to bring you back.” 

“And if I refuse?” John mildly inquired.

“Then I’ll have to be more persuasive,” the man said easily. “Though I was hoping it wouldn’t come to that. I was told you were a reasonable man.” 

“Perhaps you were misinformed.” 

The man shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said in return. “Danni Prendiville spoke quite highly of you. She seemed very . . . fond.” 

Porter almost chuckled at the man’s choice of words. It was accurate enough and the thought of Danni did make him smile. “Danni’s still with 20 then?” 

“Come back and find out.” 

Persistent. And smooth. 

“What about the Americans?” John asked instead.

“They’ve been appeased,” was the reply. “Colonel Eleanor Grant, the new Chief of Section 20, pulled some strings and had the support of Middleton. The Yanks are off your back.” 

“And I suppose after the debriefing, 20 will just discharge me.” 

“I imagine after the debriefing, 20 will put you right back to work.” 

“Lexi misses you,” the man said, after a long moment had passed. 

“Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t you?” John asked, glancing at his companion. 

“Thought I was saving the best for last, actually,” the man answered. “She’s been staying with her aunt in Kent. She’ll be off to uni soon.” 

John nodded, more to himself. Diane’s older sister, Rosalind, lived in Kent. 

“The postcards were a nice touch,” the man said quietly.

“Were they how you tracked me?” 

The man shrugged, a gesture that seemed uncharacteristic for him. “They helped,” he admitted. 

John sat back in his chair as the last of the sunset faded. If he didn’t turn on the lights soon, they’d be sitting in darkness. 

“Do you have a name?” 

“Michael Stonebridge.”

* * * * *

It was the last night of the local fiesta, and once they’d finished their beers John dragged Stonebridge out to join the festivities. (“Last night of freedom and all that,” he told the other man, as if the two of them were getting hitched in the morning. It was not an inaccurate assessment given that John was sort of married to his job and it looked like he and Stonebridge would be working together in the future.) A bonfire was already burning on the beach, but John took them inland to the town square and the street celebrations. They watched the nighttime procession – a candlelit religious ceremony of some kind – before they made it to the village square. They sampled the street food along the way, very little of which was probably recognizable to Stonebridge but he was a good sport about it. When John stopped in front of a giant roasting pig on a spit and bought a paper plate of luscious meat topped with the crispy and extremely fatty pigskin, Stonebridge couldn’t help but shoot him an incredulous look.

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “That’s a heart attack, mate.” 

“It’s called _lechon_ and it’s a specialty,” John countered. “Try it.”

Stonebridge made a face, but bravely forked one of the sinfully fatty pieces of meat and skin. “Jesus, fuck,” he said after swallowing his first mouthful. He was making noises that were going straight to John’s cock. “They can’t possibly eat that everyday.” 

John nodded in the direction of the roasting pig. “One of those costs at least seven thousand pesos, which is a lot in the local currency,” he added. “ _Lechon_ is saved for special occasions, hence the fiesta.”

Stonebridge was already forking another piece of tender meat, dipping it in the sauce this time and following it up with another cholesterol-laden piece of crispy skin. He didn’t look like he was going to share the plate. 

“You’ve been working out more than I thought,” Stonebridge commented. “If tonight’s been any indication of the diet you’ve been following.” 

“I could just flunk the physical,” John countered good-naturedly, spearing his own piece of pork from what had become Michael’s plate. 

Stonebridge gave him a critical once-over, an appraising look that made John think, _Maybe, maybe_ , even though he’d already clocked the other man’s wedding ring. 

“No mate,” Stonebridge said, his own expression unreadable. “I don’t think you will.”

* * * * *

They had many more beers and a taste of the local moonshine before heading back to the beach.

“This is called lambanog,” John told Michael before the other man took a swig of the clear liquid. To his credit, Stonebridge didn’t choke, didn’t even make a face when he passed the bottle of moonshine back. 

“It’s petrol,” Michael replied. 

“And it comes in all sorts of flavors,” John laughed. “Including bubble gum in a hideous neon blue!” 

“Fuck me!” Michael said, joining in John’s laughter.

John hoped his own grin wasn’t too salacious. Stonebridge was becoming more and more attractive to him with every passing hour, and he’d had to catch himself on several occasions from looking a bit too openly at the other man. He told himself that it would be downright stupid to make a pass at Stonebridge. The guy would probably rip his balls off. Still, a man could dream. 

Since drunkenly dancing at a bonfire didn’t appeal to either of them, when they returned to the seaside later that night they bypassed the not-so-little beach party and headed for John’s bungalow. John managed to unlock the front door and they almost fell inside. John felt the pleasant loose-limbed haze of drinking just the right amount of alcohol, not enough to seriously impair his reflexes if he unexpectedly found himself in a fight. Glancing at Stonebridge, he could tell that Michael was even less affected by the alcohol. He’d switched into surveillance mode the minute he’d stepped into John’s room and John knew just what kind of signs Stonebridge was reading. 

In a moment of pure insanity, John stalked to where Michael was standing, placed a hand on either side of Michael’s head and gave him a quick, but rough kiss. Stonebridge’s reaction was exactly what John had anticipated: an explosion of violent movement that had him pinned against the wall with Michael’s forearm across his throat, the hard pressure making breathing increasingly difficult. 

“Didn’t think you were that hard up, mate,” Stonebridge said, the calmness of his voice a counterpoint to the violence of his actions.

John allowed himself to go limp, signaling to Stonebridge that he had no intention of fighting back, that he was no threat to the other man. Stonebridge eased the pressure on his throat to allow him to speak. 

“The local fare is lovely,” John rasped. “But I’m craving a taste of home.” 

“Not a case of fight or fuck?” Stonebridge inquired in that infuriatingly polite tone, as if he were asking whether John would like a cup of tea. 

“Not unless that’s more your speed,” John returned.

Stonebridge’s lips almost quirked upwards in a smile. Almost. His arm fell away from John’s throat and he took one step backwards. John remained leaning against the wall, catching his breath and waiting for Stonebridge to make the next move. It looked like he was going to get out of this with his balls intact after all. But then Stonebridge’s right hand was fisted in his shirt and John was being yanked forward into a kiss even more bruising (and with a lot more tongue) than the one he’d given. John’s surprise lasted for a whole three seconds before he was pushing back and then clothes were honestly being ripped. Maybe ‘fight or fuck’ _was_ Stonebridge’s speed after all. John maneuvered them in the direction of the bed, distantly thankful that he’d bothered to make it this morning. When Stonebridge hit the bed with the back of his legs, he allowed himself to be pushed onto it, landing gracefully for such a big man. John had been right about him. Despite his size and impressive physique, Stonebridge was light on his feet like those giant cats ready to pounce. Stonebridge was every bit the predator that he was.

“Hand or mouth?” Stonebridge suddenly said, as John was unzipping his trousers. 

John stopped his actions and made eye contact with the other man, warming to Stonebridge even more. Stonebridge was a soldier to the core. Rules. Boundaries. Especially in an encounter with a fellow soldier that was also his target. Even when Stonebridge went off book, he followed a code.

“Hand,” John decided. While the idea of that strong jaw wrapped around his cock held a lot of appeal (maybe next time?), he’d also immensely enjoyed the brief taste he’d had of the other man and wanted more of that.

Stonebridge seemed to be reading his mind and now there was a definite smirk on his face as he shucked off his own trousers and underwear, moving back up the bed with John mirroring his actions. John settled down on top of Stonebridge, lips immediately renewing their previous kiss. His hands began to roam the other man’s body, relishing the feel of the hardened planes and the ripple of muscle, so unlike the more delicate and softer forms of the women he’d bedded in recent months. So different from Danni. 

He rubbed himself against the other man, the feel of their cocks sliding against each other sending sparks of electricity up his spine. It shouldn’t have been this hot, rutting against another man like this, but it was. Meanwhile, Stonebridge was worming a hand between their bodies. 

“Last chance,” he said, temporarily breaking their kiss. 

“Yeah, go on,” John encouraged, thrusting into the warm tunnel of Stonebridge’s hand.

John wouldn’t have minded a bit of spit or lube so he reached over, pulling open the drawer of the bedside table and fumbling inside for a tube of KY. He brought it out to Stonebridge’s amused look, sitting back still straddling the other man as he twisted open the cap and squeezed some of the contents into the palm of his hand. Then he was slicking both of them up, balancing his weight on his free arm as he took both their cocks in hand. That earned an appreciative moan from Stonebridge, and John was back to kissing that irresistible mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so much time making out with his partner. Kissing was foreplay, not the main course. Apparently he’d forgotten that, as he kept right on kissing Stonebridge as the other man took over fisting their now slicked cocks so that John could focus more fully on rubbing against him. He didn’t break the kiss when Stonebridge flipped them over to the side, legs entangled and bodies locked together. Stonebridge had picked up the pace, his grip tighter now, the friction right on the threshold between pain and pleasure. 

“Fuck,” John muttered, fingers digging into Stonebridge’s shoulder as he could feel the tension building in the base of his spine. His vision temporarily went white when he came, jerking into Stonebridge’s hand as his climax ripped through him. He lay back after that, boneless and content as the breeze from the ceiling fan began to cool his overheated body. Dimly, he was aware that Stonebridge still had himself in hand. He wanted to return the favor and was about to do just that but Michael finished himself off before he could make the offer. The other man also lay on his back so that they were side by side on the bed, close but not touching. 

“You can stay,” John said into the sudden stillness of the room. 

There was a beat before Stonebridge responded. 

“Thanks, mate.”

He felt a shift in the bed as Stonebridge stood up. For a moment, John felt a pang of disappointment that the other man was rebuffing his offer until he realized that Stonebridge was heading for the en suite bathroom. The bathroom light was switched on, but Stonebridge didn’t close the door. John heard the sound of running water and knew that the other man was cleaning himself up. The bathroom light was turned off and then Stonebridge came out holding a damp face towel. He tossed it at John, who caught it easily, before proceeding to switch off the light in the main room. He got back into bed just as John was throwing the face towel in the general direction of the hamper. Stonebridge turned over on his left side, facing away from John. 

“Good night, Porter.” 

“Good night,” John answered, realizing that they hadn’t called each other by their given names once.

* * * * *

A little before 5:00am, John woke up. He’d turned onto his side in his sleep, naturally gravitating towards the warmth of another body and now he was spooned behind Stonebridge, his arm loosely about the other man’s waist. If Stonebridge had woken at the unexpected contact, he’d let it be and John took a moment to appreciate the strong, firm lines of Stonebridge’s back and the scent of another masculine body. He nestled a bit nearer, his breath on the other man’s nape. Stonebridge shifted slightly at the contact and the action made John’s hand move lower until his fingers brushed against a patch of wiry hair and a familiar hardness.

John knew the moment Stonebridge awoke, even though the other man didn’t move. There was a sudden alertness about the body trapped in his embrace, not a tension per se, but a kind of expectation. 

“Never returned the favor last night,” John said, voice deeper than usual from sleep. “Should I do it now?” 

There was an audible exhalation before Stonebridge replied. “If you like,” he said, leaving the decision to John.

John did like _very much_ and so he wrapped his hand around the hardening flesh. The lube was back on top of the bedside table and he considered using it, but Stonebridge was already leaking into his hand. John decided to go with that and a bit of spit, pressing closer to the other man’s body and knowing that his own dick was going to show its interest soon enough. There was no teasing to be had at five in the morning and John brought Stonebridge over the edge quickly and efficiently, the other man coming with a jerk and his head thrown back against John’s shoulder. John wiped them down with a corner of the bed sheet that was much too hot to use in the humid Philippine weather, before he dropped off to sleep again, his head tucked behind Stonebridge and his arm still wrapped loosely about the other man’s waist.

The second time John woke up, bright morning sunshine was streaming into the room and heating the bed. He groaned. He was about to roll over and go back to sleep but the sound of the bathroom door opening had him glancing in that direction. He was glad that he had done so when Stonebridge came out wearing only a white towel around his waist. 

“Borrowing a shirt, mate,” Stonebridge said, informing him rather than asking for permission. John remembered that he’d ripped off the buttons of the blue button-down Stonebridge had been wearing the previous day. 

“Top drawer,” John replied. “Might as well get a pair of shorts while you’re at it,” he added. 

“Thanks, mate,” Stonebridge said, dropping the towel and pulling out a pair of shorts and a black t-shirt. 

John couldn’t help but smirk at the knowledge that Stonebridge was going commando. The smirk was wiped off his face when Stonebridge tossed the wet towel at him. 

“Oi,” the other man said. “Get up. We have a long drive ahead. Booked us the 4:00pm return to London.” 

John grudgingly sat up, leaning against the headboard. “That confident I’d go back with you, eh?” 

“I have my charms,” Stonebridge replied with a faint smile. 

John laughed outright at that.

* * * * *

Stonebridge had a new, clean passport for John that identified him as John Stockton, a businessman in the energy sector.

“Better than John Dean,” John had quipped when he saw the new alias. 

“Seriously?” Stonebridge said with a quirk of his eyebrow. 

John shrugged. “Twenty has an odd sense of humor.” 

“Can’t argue with that, mate.” 

They flew coach because the British government could be cheap like that. They were both big men and the cabin was cramped but Stonebridge had managed to snag the window seat so he at least had a view. John was stuck in between Stonebridge and an elderly woman who kept trying to draw him into a conversation about cats. 

“Prick,” John muttered under his breath, as Stonebridge failed to conceal his amusement at John’s predicament.

Stonebridge merely adjusted his ear buds and began to read the trashy spy novel that he’d picked up at the airport. Later, John would be forced to admit that Stonebridge wasn’t that much of a prick since he’d fallen asleep on the man’s shoulder twice and Michael hadn’t brushed him off. It was unreasonable how comfortable, how _close_ , he felt to the other soldier given that they’d known each other less than 24 hours. Spending one night together and jerking each other off did not a relationship make. 

They went straight to Section 20 after clearing customs at Heathrow. Stonebridge introduced him to Colonel Eleanor Grant, the new section Chief and her second-in-command, Major Oliver Sinclair. He’d given John a look that said ‘Good luck’ before he took his leave and John was left to face what he expected to be a brutal debriefing. He didn’t see Stonebridge for the rest of the day. 

Section 20 had changed a lot in six months. It was barely recognizable to John. The division had moved to a different floor at MI-6. The new offices were larger and more spacious, and the staff more extensive. Danni Prendiville had been transferred to another division and Layla Thompson had resigned due to personal reasons. It was sobering to realize that he didn’t know anyone at 20 anymore; that Stonebridge was the closest person he had to a friend in that antiseptic office. Twenty also had a larger military presence, headed by Captain Kate Marshall. John understood that Marshall supervised the ground operations, and that Stonebridge was her point man. Stonebridge, he suspected, was a _very good_ soldier. It made him a little hard to think of what Stonebridge would be like out in the field. 

When he was finally released, it was early evening. 

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” Grant had told him, although John wasn’t entirely sure what else there was to discuss.

By the time he emerged onto the sidewalk, it was to a twilight sky. 

“About bloody time,” a voice said. “Was starting to think they were going to keep you overnight.” 

John turned to his right to see Stonebridge walking towards him, hands in the pockets of his dark jeans. He’d changed since that morning. John gave him a faint smile, inordinately glad to see him. 

“Ready to go?” 

“Where to?” 

“I thought dinner and then your place.” 

“Presumptuous.” 

“Get in.”

John laughed, the lightest he’d felt since arriving back in London, and slid into the passenger side of Stonebridge’s car. It turned out that Stonebridge had spent most of the day following up on John’s personal belongings and sorting out his living arrangements. 

“The lease on that shithole you’re renting is good for a year, so there’s three months left,” Stonebridge explained to him. “As far as I know, no one’s touched that place since you disappeared. The rest of your stuff – whatever was with Diane,” he clarified, “has been put into storage.” He gave John a key, presumably to the storage facility. “Thought you’d want to contact Lexi on your own,” he finished off.

“You’ve been in touch with Lexi?” John asked, more sharply than he’d intended. Of course, it made sense, he mentally admonished himself. How else would Stonebridge have known about the postcards? 

“Visited her a few times,” Stonebridge answered casually, as if it had just been part of the job.

In a way, it had been, but John knew that it had been more than that too. Lexi had been in a bad way when he’d disappeared, still coming to terms with the unexpected death of her mother followed almost immediately by the loss of her father. Collinson, for all his faults, had looked after Diane and Lexi in his own way. (Now John understood that Collinson had done it out of guilt, to atone for his own personal sins.) But Collinson had sacrificed himself in Afghanistan so that John could escape, which meant that Lexi had been more alone than ever at a time when she’d been most vulnerable. John would never be able to forgive himself for not being there for her when he’d already missed so much time with her. Now she was a young woman who barely knew her father. 

John couldn’t express the gratitude he felt toward Stonebridge at that moment. It was almost overwhelming, so he looked out the window at the passing streets instead. Stonebridge had checked up on his daughter when John had been nothing more than a name in a file. A target that needed to be reacquired. Stonebridge had done it because he was a good, decent man who didn’t owe John anything. 

“Thank you,” he eventually said, when he trusted himself to speak again. 

“Not a problem,” Stonebridge replied.

Dinner was pleasant and relaxing, forcing John to marvel again at the ease he felt in Stonebridge’s company. Afterwards, it was the most natural thing to invite the other man up for a drink when Stonebridge stopped outside his building. Stonebridge had looked at him then, his expression unreadable. John didn’t think there had been anything sexual in the invitation, but maybe his unconscious was merely doing the work for him. At any rate, Stonebridge gave him a curt nod before getting out of the vehicle.

Outside his front door, John pulled the spare key from its hiding place, not even bothering to hide it from his companion. When he opened the door, the musty smell of a room untouched for six months greeted them. 

“Guess the cleaning lady forgot to drop by,” John said half-heartedly, as he tossed the spare key onto the dusty table. 

“This place _is_ a shithole,” Stonebridge observed from behind him, as if confirming something he’d already suspected. He shut and locked the door. 

“It’s my shithole,” John said fondly. And it was true. He turned to face the other man, and the smile on his face instantly vanished.

Stonebridge stood near the door, as if unwilling to step further into the room. He had a preternatural stillness about him like the calm before the storm or a predator about to strike. John decided to go with the predator metaphor. Michael Stonebridge was definitely a predator. A first-class one, just like John himself. 

Although there had been nothing sexual in his invitation to come upstairs for a drink, there was no denying that the sexual chemistry hung between them now, electrifying the room, charging the small space between them. Mutual handjobs in some far-flung Asian country could be attributed to a bit of fun, to a stress release, even a time out. But getting together now, in John’s own room, on the night that he returned to England – that would mean something entirely different, something that neither of them could attribute to fun nor stress release. 

Time slowly ticked away as they eyed each other, weighing their options, considering the consequences. It would be foolhardy. Reckless. And although Michael hadn’t brought it up yet, he was obviously a married man. Yet they moved toward each other at the same instant, and then John was being backed into the dusty table where he’d placed the spare key. When Michael’s lips met his, it was like kissing him for the first time.


	2. This Mess We're In

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although it's already been tagged, infidelity has become a major theme of this story. If that bothers you, please don't continue.

They developed a routine after that first night. They would hook up before or after missions but never during. John’s room, as much as Michael hated it, was always the first place they crashed whenever they returned to London before Michael went home to Kerry. John soon learned all about Kerry. Michael’s marriage was rocky at best. They had met young and they’d married young. They’d grown apart in the intervening years, but Michael stayed with Kerry. John wasn’t sure whether it was out of love, loyalty or guilt. Probably some combination of the three. He knew that Kerry wanted to have kids and that Michael also wanted a family. Kerry believed that a child would bring them closer together, would fill the void that had opened up between them. John wasn’t so sure. While he loved Lexi, he hadn’t been the best of fathers. He thought that Michael would be a great dad – better than him, in fact – but having a child in order to patch up a marriage seemed manipulative to him. It would be like using the child as a bridge or a conduit, directing one’s love and attention onto a baby and hoping, by extension, that the love would grow to encompass your partner as well.

Speaking of children, Michael had accompanied John the weekend he was finally able to visit Lexi. John spoke with Lexi on the phone frequently now or video-conferenced when they could, but Michael had been right about Section 20. As soon as John had cleared the debriefing, they’d put him straight to work and a day later he was flying out to Mombasa for a snatch and grab with Michael by his side. Their first mission together went without a hitch. It was a little shocking. The intel was accurate. There were no surprises. They were in and out of the city in less than twenty-four hours. After that, they worked seamlessly together and Michael turned out to be every bit the soldier that John thought he would be. 

The missions came in a steady stream and almost a month had passed before John had any downtown – 72 hours, the equivalent of a long weekend. Lexi was on his mind the Friday morning that they landed in London and again much later that afternoon while he watched Michael getting dressed from his position on the bed. They’d slept most of the afternoon away and when they hadn’t been sleeping they’d enjoyed lazy afternoon sex. 

“I’d like to see Lexi this weekend,” John said suddenly.

John knew by the way Michael’s hands had briefly stilled while he’d been doing his belt buckle that he’d taken the usually unflappable Michael Stonebridge by surprise. Michael finished buckling his belt and then rested his hands on his hips, wearing the dark jeans and black shirt that John liked so much on him. 

Michael eyed him from where he was standing at the foot of the bed, finally asking in a quiet voice, “Would you like me to go with you?” 

That hadn’t at all been John’s intention when he’d blurted out that sentence – at least, not consciously – but the moment Michael made the offer, he realized it was true. He _wanted_ Michael to come with him as that little bit of extra courage. 

“Would you mind?” he asked, trying not to sound embarrassed by the admission. 

“Wouldn’t have offered if I did,” Michael replied. “When were you planning to see her?” 

“Sunday.” 

“Give me a call. We’ll take my car.”

* * * * *

Sunday turned out to be a lovely day and the drive to Kent took a little under an hour and a half. Michael displayed a familiarity with the roads that made John wonder how many times he’d made the trip. He’d called ahead so both Rosalind and Lexi were expecting them after lunch. Rosalind had extended an invitation for lunch that John hadn’t been prepared to accept. He and Rosalind had never been particularly close, and he knew how upset she’d been that John had been on a mission the weekend that Diane had faced complications in the surgery to remove a benign tumor. John hadn’t even known about the tumor. Diane had kept that from him. He remembered how Lexi had pleaded with him to be home that weekend, although she also hadn’t given a specific reason. Diane had forbidden her to and in response Lexi had lashed out at him. “You’re never around anyway, so why should this be any different?” The words had stung because they were true and John had felt the twin knives of guilt and obligation to his family and to his country pulling him in opposite directions. This was the soldier’s life, and he had long ago accepted that he would always be a soldier first. It was being a soldier that allowed him to _protect_ his family and countless other families.

That’s why John had gone to Zimbabwe posing as a blood diamond dealer so he could be arrested and wind up in the same prison as Felix Masuku, a former SAS soldier who had attempted to assassinate President Robert Mugabe. His mission was to prevent Masuku from standing trial by breaking him out and then executing him before Britain lost its credibility among the African nations. Masuku had been labeled – and these were Collinson’s exact words – as a “threat to the Empire.” That mission had turned into a colossal clusterfuck with a miraculously happy ending, or as happy an ending as was possible for someone like Felix Masuku, whom John had allowed to disappear into his homeland, rather than take him back to Section 20 where there was a strong chance that Masuku would be executed anyway or face criminal charges. 

John had lied to Collinson’s face about Masuku’s death and then Collinson had told him about Diane’s surgery. John’s history with Collinson had been messy from the beginning, when Collinson had been assigned to his unit for that fatal Bratton extraction on the eve of the Iraqi invasion. The consequences of that mission had spun John’s life into a downward spiral, long before John had uncovered the truth about Collinson’s betrayal. It tore at him that when Lexi had called him because she needed her father, it was Collinson who had come to the hospital to comfort her. Any gratitude he’d felt towards Collinson for looking after his family had been deeply bound with resentment, self-loathing and inadequacy. He felt none of those conflicting emotions when he thought of what Michael had done for his daughter, just gratitude that a stranger had shown her kindness and concern. It was for that reason it didn’t feel inappropriate asking Michael to accompany him. 

Inappropriate was the last thing on Lexi’s mind when she ran out of her aunt’s house to greet her father, launching herself into his arms so that John had had to take a step back in order to bear her weight. She began to cry and it was all John could do to stop himself from breaking down as well. His eyes were damp when they finally broke apart, and then to his surprise, Lexi turned to Michael who’d been discreetly standing behind them and crushed him in another hug. Michael looked surprised as well, but he returned her hug albeit more sedately. John heard her say to him, “I knew you’d bring him back.” He’d had to look away after that, but a moment later Lexi was grasping his hand and pulling him toward the house.

“Aunt Rosalind prepared tea,” Lexi explained to them. Then she stopped. “We’re not going to spend the whole afternoon here, right?” she asked in confirmation. 

John looked at Michael who shrugged in return. _Your call_ , the action said. 

“We’ll do whatever you want,” John told his daughter. 

Lexi flashed him a bright smile. “Good,” she said, resuming their walk. “Because I’m dying to get out of the house.” 

Tea with Rosalind was a somewhat stilted affair, but John had been prepared for that. He was more thankful than ever that Michael had made the offer to tag along since Rosalind had clearly taken a liking to him from his previous visits. When she and Lexi stepped out of the room to get more scones, John said to him, “Do you make it a habit of charming the ladies?” 

“Only the older ones,” Michael smoothly replied.

John had chuckled into his cup. There was a large age gap between Rosalind and Diane, which was perhaps another reason why Rosalind had disapproved of her sister’s choice of husband. When Rosalind and Lexi returned from the kitchen, Lexi was flashing him dagger looks that meant, _C’mon, Dad. Let’s go._ John tried to come up with a reasonable excuse for leaving, glancing at Michael for some help, but the smug bastard sat there and drank his tea, enjoying John’s evident discomfort. In the end, it was Lexi who bailed him out, telling her aunt that she wanted to show her dad the sights. 

“Where _are_ we going?” Michael asked Lexi through the rearview mirror when the of them were inside his car.

“My favorite coffee shop,” Lexi told him. “It’s where I’ve been working this summer.” 

John was thrilled that Lexi brought them to one of her regular haunts. He hadn’t felt such a part of her life in a very long time as she went around and introduced them to her co-workers, who were all interested in design like she was, and her boss, a young couple who were also artists. They ran an independent coffee shop whose major selling point was that it also doubled as an art gallery for up-and-coming artists. 

“Is that what you want to be?” Michael asked Lexi when she finally joined them with their drinks. (She’d insisted on making their drinks herself.) “An artist?” 

“Not like Marty and Fiona,” Lexi replied, referring to the owners of the coffee shop. “They’re _really_ good. I’m more interested in interior design or graphic design. Haven’t really decided yet.” She nudged a cup in Michael’s direction. 

“What is this again?” Michael asked, looking down at the green and white concoction in front of him. 

“It’s a matcha green tea latte.” 

Michael glanced at John and this time it was John’s turn to smirk. Michael was too polite to say ‘no’ to his daughter and so Lexi had decided to be more experimental with Michael’s order. Michael raised the cup to his lips and took a drink. 

“Well?” Lexi prodded. 

“It’s very good.” 

John’s grin grew wider. Michael would’ve said that even if he thought it tasted like old gym socks. 

“But?” 

“No, really. It’s very good,” Michael repeated. 

“Would you order it again?” 

At this, Michael hedged. “If you made it,” he answered. John figured that was true enough. 

“But?” 

“But next time, maybe just Earl Grey,” Michael finally admitted. 

“I knew it,” Lexi muttered. She turned to her father. “Dad, your turn,” she told him expectantly.

“And this is?” it was John’s turn to inquire as he picked up his own froth-filled cup. 

“A crème brûlée latte.” 

“Sounds fancy,” Michael commented. Although his voice sounded perfectly neutral, John could clearly hear the underlying smirk. 

John bravely took a drink. At Lexi’s look, he said, “It’s a little on the sweet side.” 

“It’s a _dessert_ coffee, Dad.” 

“Ah.” 

Lexi sighed. “You’re both such old fogeys,” she complained and then stood up, gathering their drinks. “Fine,” she stated. “One Earl Grey and . . .” 

“One long black,” John finished. 

Lexi rolled her eyes but gave them both a fond smile as she left the table to make them new drinks. 

“She’s great,” Michael said, when Lexi was out of earshot. “You did a good job with her.”

John shook his head. “Can’t take the credit,” he replied. “Diane practically raised her single-handedly these past seven years.” _Since Iraq_ , he didn’t say, but the implication hung heavily in the air between them. 

Michael’s look was contemplative. “There’s still time,” he said eventually. “You’re all she has now.” 

John nodded in response. The urge to reach out and touch Michael was strong, but he curbed that impulse. He’d never been a particularly tactile person, especially in public. “Thanks again,” he said instead. “For coming with me today.” 

“My pleasure, mate.” 

A few minutes later, Lexi was back with their drinks. She sighed a little theatrically when she sat opposite the two of them in their little circular table. “Do you know how embarrassing it is that my friends think that my dad and his mate are hot?” she asked them with a grimace. 

Michael chuckled and John glanced back at the bar where two baristas and the cashier were huddled together not-so-discreetly whispering and throwing looks in their direction. When John turned back to his companions, he shrugged. “I s’ppose it’s…flattering?” he suggested, looking to Michael for support.

But Michael merely shook his head, still amused. “Not into cradle snatching, mate,” he replied, but there was a glint in his eye that told John they were thinking the same thing, _What would Lexi’s friends think if they knew that her dad and his best mate were shagging each other too?_

“Still embarrassing,” Lexi sniffed. “You’re both so old.” 

“Oi,” John said with mock sternness. “We’re not _that_ old.” 

Michael couldn’t stop laughing.

Their conversation settled down after that and it was mostly filled with Lexi’s university plans. She was still undecided on where she’d like to go and she had several options to choose from. Aside from comparing the different design programs, she was also considering locale. 

“If I studied in London,” she began. “I thought I’d be able to see you more. I know you’re out of the country a lot,” she rushed on. “But maybe on the weekends you’re home we could do something, even if it’s just having a cup of coffee.” 

She looked at John a little uncertainly, as if this idea would displease him somehow, but John was too overcome with that knowledge that he’d even been factored into her uni plans. He had so much lost time to catch up on. Luckily, Michael came to his rescue…again. 

“It’s a brilliant idea,” the other man said. He gave John a piercing look. “And it’ll finally give you a reason to move out of that rat hole,” he added. “Otherwise, how can your daughter visit you on the weekends?” 

Lexi made a face. “That’s true,” she agreed.

“My place is not that bad,” John protested, even though he knew Michael was right. Lexi wouldn’t be able to stay with him on the weekends. 

“It is,” Michael countered, secure in the knowledge that Lexi would back him. 

John never actually agreed to move out of his beloved rat hole, but he privately admitted that it was an incentive if Lexi chose to study in London and she certainly seemed to be leaning towards the idea, despite the fact that it would be more expensive. He and Diane had put enough away for her university education, even during the lean years. Lexi had also received a partial scholarship from one of the London schools, so that would be a big help. 

Before leaving the coffee shop, Lexi had one of her co-workers take a photo of the three of them with Lexi standing in between John and Michael who were both seated, one arm draped around each man as she pulled them in. Her smile was radiant. Later, John would have that photo printed and taped to his bathroom mirror. Much, much later, one morning while shaving he would realize, with their smiling faces looking back at him, that Lexi and Michael were the only real family he had left.

* * * * *

“You have to move out of this fucking room,” Michael said, breathless and grinning, as he collapsed on his back beside John.

John was lying on his front, too sated to move, limbs heavy from the exertions of sex, his ass still feeling the pleasant burn of being stretched and filled by the other man. All he could do was turn his head so that he had a clear view of Michael’s profile. They’d been doing this for months now and John’s moving had become a running joke between them. John had no doubt that Michael hated his place, but he tolerated it because it had become somewhat of a sanctuary for both of them. Sometimes even John couldn’t understand why he was so reluctant to let go of his rat hole. Others times he knew precisely why – it was a link to his past, to his horrible, awful past that like a sick masochist he wanted a constant reminder of, as if his future didn’t hold more promise even with his improving relationship with Lexi and with Michael by his side. Being a soldier again meant that life was too ephemeral. All happiness was fleeting. Transient. These post-mission hook-ups with Michael when they could utterly be themselves had somehow come to symbolize that, as had the room that Michael detested so much. 

Still, John played along, giving the other man a lazy smile. “Gonna go flat-hunting with me?” he teased. 

Michael was instantly alert, propping himself up on one arm to look down at him. “If that’s what it takes, yeah,” he said, a bit too eagerly.

John pounced on him then and Michael didn’t even pretend to put up a fight. He needed to quickly shut the other man up since the direction their light banter had gone made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to think of flat hunting with Michael, of what that could possibly mean, of his deep dark impossible wish that if they found a place they liked that maybe Michael would consider moving in with him. It was too complicated and fucked up and they’d never really discussed what they meant to each other. Everything had been intuitive from the start. 

John didn’t like to dwell on it. What he had with Michael was good. It was the now that mattered.

* * * * *

Lexi eventually chose to study in London and while John was thrilled, it did bring the issue of moving to the fore. Michael was a pragmatist – even more than John – and the solution he came up with both disturbed and pleased the other man. Since John was being a bastard about moving, Michael opened up his home to Lexi. If Lexi needed a break from the dorm or from uni life in general, she was welcome to stay with Michael and Kerry. Kerry, in particular, took an instant liking to Lexi. While John thought it a positive development that Lexi had more female influences in her life (at least, someone aside from Rosalind), this was _Kerry Stonebridge_ they were talking about.

John felt deeply uncomfortable around Kerry, but all his psychological training kicked in and he never once let it show. It was one thing to hear Michael talk about his unhappy marriage, it was another thing to watch him live a double life. What bothered John most of all was that the Stonebridges didn’t look like an unhappy couple. Far from it. Were Kerry and Michael just both bloody amazing actors putting on a front for their guests? John didn’t think so, but it certainly put into perspective his own questionable ‘relationship’ with his partner. Although he didn’t know Kerry Stonebridge very well, he could automatically tell that she wasn’t the type to ‘share,’ especially Michael. Then there was the guilt, an all too familiar emotion. John couldn’t be alone with Kerry for long because the words, “I’m shagging your husband and I might be in love with him,” never seemed to be too far from his lips. 

The whole situation struck John as unhealthy or worse, a powder keg about to explode. So, one weekend while he and Michael were grilling lamb burgers in Michael’s backyard and Kerry and Lexi were in the kitchen preparing the rest of the meal, John said, “You don’t find any of this strange?” 

Michael looked up from the griller, his expression saying that John should be more specific. 

“Lexi and I spending so much time here when you and I…” John trailed off, unwilling to finish the statement. 

Michael, the bastard, merely gave him a wry grin. “Now’s probably not the best time to have that conversation, mate,” he said. 

“Are we _ever_ going to have that conversation?” John challenged.

The air shifted. John could see the moment that Michael’s gaze focused, hardened, and then he was looking at the same predator he had first met on a Philippine beach all those months ago. The tension between them was palpable. 

“Are _you_ ready to have that conversation?” Michael asked quietly.

John flinched. He’d been prepared to say that Michael was the one evading but the other man had out-maneuvered him…again. _He_ was the one in stasis, unwilling to move forward, somehow still clinging to the past. But he didn’t know what Michael was offering, if Michael was offering anything at all. What future could they possibly have together? And when did the future become so damn frightening? 

“Some other time,” John finally said, just as quietly. 

Michael’s gaze was searching and it was all John could do not to flinch again under his partner’s knowing look. The tension between them was broken by the sound of laughter and female voices. Kerry and Lexi were coming outside carrying bowls, plates and cutlery. John turned to help them and Michael went back to grilling burgers as though nothing had happened at all.

* * * * *

In the lush jungles of Nicaragua as the two of them tracked their prey (a South American drug lord branching out to the arms trade), Michael suddenly said as were about to settle into shifts for the night, “When we get back to London, you and Lexi should spend Christmas with us.”

John was taking the first watch and he looked down at Michael, stretched out on his bedding and using his pack as a pillow. “That’s a terrible idea,” he said. 

“Not taking ‘no’ for an answer, mate,” Michael replied. “Besides, I already told Lexi,” he added, before turning over and going to sleep. 

Sometimes John really hated him.

* * * * *

London was positively frigid compared to the humidity of Nicaragua. When the team returned, it was already December 21st.

“The world had better stay saved until after Christmas,” Major Sinclair said at a toast during Section 20’s Christmas party. (How surreal to think that Section 20 had Christmas parties. It seemed so…banal.) 

“I’ll drink to that,” Grant agreed, and then they’d all raised their shot glasses and drank.

At that point, Lexi had been on holiday for about a week. She’d visited her Aunt Rosalind for a few days but then had gone straight to the Stonebridge’s. She was spending so much time with Kerry and Michael (mainly Kerry because Michael was often on a mission with John) that she’d moved into the second bedroom, what would eventually become the baby’s room if Kerry and Michael decided to have children. 

“Stay over,” Michael whispered in John’s ear later that night when they’d gone back to John’s place after the Christmas party, one arm slung about the other man’s waist as he curled into him. “Don’t you want to wake up under the same roof as Lexi instead of driving over on Christmas day?” 

“You are a manipulative bastard,” John told him. 

Michael laughed softly and planted a kiss on his shoulder. “Guilty as charged,” he murmured before he fell asleep.

The next day, John threw some clothes into a duffel and then they went to Michael’s place where Kerry and Lexi were both waiting for them. John settled into the guest room on the ground floor and tried not to feel like a complete asshole for intruding on the Stonebridge family, even though he’d been invited and Lexi was delighted to be here. He hadn’t been in the room for more than ten minutes before Michael came in, closing and locking the door behind him. John shot him a questioning look as Michael walked over to where he was standing by the bed. 

“I know you don’t like being here,” Michael began. “Probably even more than I detest your rat hole,” he added with a faint smile. 

Despite the gravity of the situation, John couldn’t help but return the smile. 

“And Kerry makes you uneasy,” Michael went on. “Which is understandable.” 

“How can you be so calm?” John butted in. “So at ease?” 

Michael shrugged. “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully. “Part of it’s the training.” 

“And the other part?” 

Michael’s gaze was steady. “Sometimes I see you both as two halves of myself,” he admitted. “Which I know isn’t fair on either of you.” 

“One side has to win in the end,” John said softly, without really thinking. When he looked at Michael again, he realized with some concern that this was the beginning of the conversation that he was not yet prepared to have. 

“There’s something you haven’t figured out yet,” Michael said, stepping forward so that he was in John’s personal space. “Something that Lexi figured out a while back.” 

“She _is_ smarter than me,” John pointed out, earning a grin from the other man. “So, what does Lexi know that I don’t?” 

“That you’re family,” Michael answered, just before he kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Strike Back_ belongs to Sky 1 and Cinemax. No infringement is intended, no profit is being made.


End file.
